311 Pelican Court - Debbie Macomber [73]
“You want my opinion?” she said.
Roy grinned. “I have a feeling you’re going to give it to me, anyway, so why not?”
“I suspect this John Doe was lost and looking for a place to stay. You and I both know there are only a couple of motels in town.”
“Both are off the Interstate,” Roy reminded her.
“So he took an early exit and got lost. That’s easy enough to do,” Corrie reasoned. “Remember the first time we drove to Cedar Cove?” If he didn’t remember, she certainly did. They’d driven across the Narrows Bridge on a sunny Sunday afternoon, searching out areas in Puget Sound where their retirement income would match the cost of living.
Corrie had been reading the map and become confused. Consequently, Roy had exited the freeway too soon and they’d found themselves in what was primarily a rural area. They’d driven past small farms and horse ranches and then along stretches of undeveloped waterfront. They’d both grown excited when they realized property values were fifty percent less than they were across the water.
“I remember,” Roy said. “But if that was the case, the mystery man would’ve had to travel a long way in the dark, on unfamiliar roads, and then he just stumbled onto the Bel-dons’ bed-and-breakfast.” He rubbed his jaw. “I suppose it’s possible. With the renaming of some streets, anyone, especially a visitor, could get confused.” Part of Lighthouse Road, on the other side of Harbor Street, was now called Cranberry Point.
“True.” Roy had a point. The Thyme and Tide wasn’t on the beaten path and was miles away from the exit she’d mentioned.
“So much of his visit to town doesn’t add up,” Roy muttered. “The fact that he had plastic surgery has bothered me from the beginning.”
“I thought the coroner said it looked like the guy had some kind of accident.”
“He did,” Roy said, “but Bob said there was something vaguely familiar about him. I keep thinking about that, too.”
“Let it go,” she urged. “It’s almost Christmas.” If Roy took a break from the case, he might free his mind to explore solutions. It often happened like that; a case would lie fallow for months and then overnight a small piece of evidence her husband had found months earlier—a bit of conversation, a previously unrelated detail—would suddenly click into place. Soon afterward, he’d have the answers he needed.
“I can’t do that just yet,” he mumbled. “I’ve got a few feelers out.”
Corrie nearly groaned. The problem was, once Roy asked for favors, he owed just as many in return. It all depended on whom he’d contacted and why. “What sort of feelers?”
“Not to worry, most of it can be done over the Internet.”
“It’s almost Christmas,” she reminded him again. For once, she wanted him to simply enjoy the holiday and stop thinking about work.
“Yes,” he agreed mildly.
“Our children will be home soon, and it’s important that we spend time as a family.”
“I agree,” he said, “but I want you to remember there’s another family somewhere who’s missing a father this Christmas.”
Corrie had remained emotionally detached from the man who’d turned up dead at the Beldons’ B and B. He was a stranger who’d chosen to carry false identification. Nothing was known about him or his reasons for being in town. Because of that, Corrie hadn’t thought of him as a real person with a home and a wife and perhaps children.
“You’re doing a missing person’s search, aren’t you?”
Roy shrugged, which in itself was an answer. “Go, and have a good time with Peggy,” he told her.
“Do you want me to bring you back anything for lunch?”
Roy shook his head. “I’ll get by with peanut butter and jelly.” His favorite midday meal.
Corrie left then, and spent a pleasant afternoon with her new friend. It felt good to get out, to be part of the annual Christmas-shopping experience. They ate at the mall’s food court, chatting over pizza slices and Coke as holiday tunes filled the air. Soon the two women were caught up in the crowd of shoppers.
Corrie